


A Kissing Game

by sirona



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-07
Updated: 2011-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-15 11:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirona/pseuds/sirona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their first kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kissing Game

"John, kiss me."

John looks at Sherlock like he's lost his damned mind. "What."

"Kiss me, do it now! Come on!" Sherlock is looking over his shoulder, hands agitated as they gesture John closer impatiently.

"I'm not playing one of your stupid games. We're at a crime scene!"

"A crime scene that we're the first people to stumble upon, that _someone else put there_ , the same someone who is lurking in that doorway on the left, I'll wager. Now _kiss me_ , and try to pretend for a moment that you actually want to."

John squints in the direction Sherlock is pointedly looking away from. The alleyway is as dark as London ever gets, with the ever-present reflected lamplight, and he can make out the outline of a man that Sherlock must have spotted well over a minute ago, taking pains to remain unseen in a doorway six meters to their left.

'Bloody hell', John thinks, looking up at his companion apprehensively. If he kisses Sherlock now, there's no way in hell that he could possibly keep hiding the past few months, and the inevitable changes they've brought to his attitude towards Sherlock -- suffice to say, John has come to wish _he_ could be Sherlock's work, if it would get him the man's undivided attention for once.

There's a tiny glint of light coming from the doorway in question, and John realises with a dizzying spike of adrenaline that the knife the murderer had used on the woman lying sprawled not ten feet from them is still in his possession. If the murderer realises now that the two of them _aren't_ a couple looking for a quiet place for a few moments, things are going to get rather unpleasant.

Sherlock is scowling at him, lush lips pressed together in a thin line of exasperation, and an unreadable look in his eye. He raises his eyebrows at John, questioning and commanding at the same time, and John can almost hear the 'Problem?' that must be on the tip of Sherlock's tongue.

Speaking of tongues... John's eyes fall to Sherlock's mouth without his permission, and he's helpless to stop the rushed exhale at the thought of pressing his lips to Sherlock's, licking his way into that tempting mouth.

He blinks a few times, trying to pull himself together, then reaches for the lapels on Sherlock's coat, curls his fingers in them and draws the tall form closer. He tips his head back, tugs Sherlock down a little and touches their lips hesitantly together.

Sherlock exhales roughly into his mouth, and John feels long fingers brush his hair, then tangle in it. He makes a small noise of pleasure in the back of his throat that he can't possibly hide. All he can think about is how soft, how pliant Sherlock's lips are, mobile and deliciously plump. There's a noise in his ears, and John realises with a rush no adrenaline can ever hope to match that Sherlock is humming in pleasure.

The fingers in his hair tug, and he goes with it as Sherlock tips his head to the side, the better to fit their mouths together. John's lips fall open, he can't help it; Sherlock takes merciless advantage and slips his tongue into John's mouth, sliding it against his. Any thoughts on where Sherlock had learned to kiss like _that_ rush out of his head unheeded at the taste that floods his senses. Tea, biscuits, _cigarettes?_

"You shouldn't be smoking when you've got the nicotine patches on, you know that," John chides, concern overtaking lust for a split second.

Sherlock stares at him, pink lips shiny with John's saliva, and John's knees threaten to give up spirit. Sherlock makes an aborted move towards him; John gets the distinct impression that he is a delicious meal and Sherlock is _starving_. Then Sherlock's eyes shift to the left, quicksilver in the faded light as they track the movement, and John can't hold back the groan of frustration, lets his head fall back agains the wall they've somehow found themselves pressed to.

"Right," he says, "right, fine, okay."

Sherlock looks back at him, something like regret in his gaze. John sighs, resigned. "Ready when you are," he says, mouth twisting wryly.

And then Sherlock smiles at him, brilliantly, his whole face coming to light, eyes glowing with happiness. John's breath stutters in his chest. "Later," Sherlock says, a gloved finger lingering at the side of his mouth, right over his bottom lip. Then he turns with a swish of his coat and he's gone, long, long legs flashing as he runs in a dash down the alleyway, hot in pursuit of the killer. John shakes his head dazedly, and follows.

END


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